Me, Myself… And Everyone Else

Just a young Irish girl, looking for somewhere to share my poetry.

Another Language October 14, 2012

Filed under: Poetry — maisygirl @ 8:37 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

She watches him from afar:

Careful glances slyly stolen

When she thinks no one is looking.

She observes him:

With the wariness of a lioness on the hunt,

Praparing to strike.

She hopes to someday make contact.

The first meeting of two different species.

Perhaps over time

They might learn to understand each other

Because right now he is speaking in a foreign language.

 

We Are Like Sparrows

Filed under: Poetry — maisygirl @ 1:10 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

She is a sparrow.

She longs to be free,

Stretch her wings

Over some glorious expanse.

But he wants

To keep her locked up.

Cramp her wings

With iron bars.

He doesn’t understand

Her need for freedom.

And so over time

She begins to lose her wings.

Her feathers moulted,

If you saw her now

You would not recognise her.

Her cries are silenced.

He has murdered her through misunderstanding.

 

Lust

Filed under: Poetry — maisygirl @ 12:26 am
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Finally, the last sin in my Seven Deadly Sins/Seven Heavenly Virtues series. I’m  so glad to finally get this up. I hope you like it.

She craves the feel
Of many hands
Crawling all over her body.
Why should she
Be limited to just one?
Why does she have to choose?
She doesn’t care
If she gets ‘a name.’
She made
Her choices,
They made
Theirs.
She can never be loved enough.
Her body
Can never
Contain
Too much love.

 

Skitter-Skatter October 9, 2012

Filed under: Poetry,Update — maisygirl @ 10:21 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

First, I would like to apologise. I know that whatever I say will not be even close to enough, so I’ll try and keep it simple.

I had a very busy summer. It was full of all sorts of hectic outings and plans, and I just wasn’t able to find time to write. And then when summer was over, I was out of habit, so I never started writing again. But here I am now, and hopefully here I’ll stay, updating at least once a week.

Skitter-skatter.

And yet she

Is still climbing.

What she climbs towards?

This distant goal

Has long been obscured

By a dense cloud,

Green and blue,

Of jealousy and misery.

Maybe one day

Her foot will slip

And she will fall,

Skitter-skatter,

‘Til she hits the ground.

I hope you like it, and once again sorry it’s been so long.

 

Tell Me Why (part 2) December 4, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — maisygirl @ 5:28 pm
Tags: , , , , , ,
Yeah, ok
I like you.
But she’s my friend.
You don’t have to
Break her heart.
 
‘Secret’ relationships
Never work.
Can’t you see?
 
They said he’s only gonna
Break break your
Break break your heart –
And I guess they were right.
You didn’t even try.
 

Tell Me Why (part 1)

Filed under: Poetry — maisygirl @ 5:19 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

These next few poems were written at the start of last year. They were just a way of getting my feelings out, so they’re not my best work.

Why her?
Why not me?
What makes her so special?
Tell me why.
 
All those texts –
Were they lies?
Everyone saying
You were talking about me
All day.
Did they lie?
Or were you
Lying then too?
Tell me why.
 
The hugs
The laughs
The smiles:
What were they for?
Tell me why.
 
Can’t you feel it too?
The electric touch
When you brush past;
The longing
When you’re not there.
Tell me why.
 
Ok, yeah, I’ll admit
She knows you better,
For longer too.
But maybe. . .
Don’t you believe
In love at first sight?
I do now.
Tell me why.
 
 

Love and Heartbreak November 25, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — maisygirl @ 6:02 pm
Tags: , , ,

Wrote this some time over the last week when I was bored in school. Wasn’t really sure what it was about until I wrote the last verse today. Still not entirely sure if it all fits together.

 

A single ice-white rose,

petals scattered on the floor.

A dirty footprint stamped on the scene,

and frozen tears.

 

A smashed picture:

His face, torn cleanly out.

Red blood

scattered on the drops of glass.

 

A rusty knife

dug deep into the table;

deep etches mark out

scars from previous fights.

 

A lipstick-stained letter,

faded through time,

and smelling faintly

of a masculine perfume.

 

Nail varnish,

spilled and smudged.

Left in a hurry

and quickly forgotten.

 

The remnants of a string of pearls;

loose beads stained with age

have been broken and scattered

across the blood red velvet tablecloth.

 

Pictures and memories.

All of them

from those last few precious days

before it ended.